


keep your heart

by mayafriar



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Idiots in Love, Pining, anne is also a dumbass, anne is insecure, gilbert is super obviously in love with her, like she should really take a hint lbr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayafriar/pseuds/mayafriar
Summary: She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t wanted to give the letters to Ruby. When Diana had suggested it, Anne had frozen up instinctually, and her best friend had only grinned. The implication that it meant something was clear, and Anne abhorred it. She wanted the letter, and that was that. If she thought about it long enough she would be able to reason a thousand whys, but her wanting it should be enough.// OR seven times anne is in denial and the one time she isn't





	keep your heart

**Author's Note:**

> so this follows show canon and then kinda diverges into the books canon like idrk what im doing but fuck i love anne and gilbert
> 
> also this whole fic is basically just anne being in major denial because yall know shes a messy bitch

**I**.

Anne Shirley hated Gilbert Blythe, and there was not a person on earth that could change her low opinion of him. She loathed him entirely, the thought of him filling her with a special type of bitterness, one reserved for only the worst of the worst. Anne was not a forgiving person in the least, and what Gilbert had done slighted her greatly.

It was positively juvenile - tugging on her braid like a little boy. Of course, that is what he had proven himself to be: just as terrible as all the others. Perhaps that is what hurt Anne the most, the fact that she had held hope for him. That first dayin the woods, he’d fended off Billy, and it had been charming, almost _romantical_. Needless to say, that memory had been tainted completely by his idiocy.

Well, he had claimed he wanted her attentions, and surely he had them now. With that one word, he had brought down all her fiery ire, and there was nought he could do to gain her forgiveness. Of course, he had tried.

The first attempt had been shortly after, when she’d been avoiding school. She hadn’t seen him herself, but Marilla had told her of it later. “Gilbert came by,” she had paused, as if waiting for Anne’s response. “He said he was terribly sorry for what happened.” Anne had sworn that Marilla’s lip had twitched, as if she were to smile. She wasn’t sure why everyone seemed to find all of this quite so amusing.

The second attempt came after the fire. She’d gone by with Ruby, to drop off the baking they’d done. Of course he was there, in all his ‘goodness’, oh so chivalrous as he helped Ruby up. He had stared at her, wide eyed, as if imploring her to please, _please_ , forgive him. He’d opened his mouth as if to say something, and she’d turned away.

She supposed she was being quite petulant, behaving so, but it was justified. Besides, she’d promised Josie Pye she’d stay away from Gilbert, and she intended to keep to her word. No-one really wanted to be Anne’s friend as it was, so she’d best not make things worse by associating with a boy like him.

Sometimes she wondered what he might say about her. Billy was a brute, but at least he was open with his cruelty. Gilbert seemed to be watching her always, waiting for her next misstep. It was aggravating, more-so when she was made to listen to the other girls fawn over him; Ruby especially chattered incessantly about how handsome he was.

There was a third attempt at an apology, though Anne was either too proud or too oblivious to notice. “I should’ve added the e,” he had said, and she had been caught in his gaze, all her anger forgotten for a moment as they stood up the front of the class. He had smiled at her, and for a second she thought perhaps she understood what Ruby had meant when she'd said he was handsome. But only for a second.

She hadn’t allowed herself to think more of it, but if she had, she would have remembered that Gilbert Blythe knew well how to spell engagement - he’d spelt it correctly in every quiz they’d had. It was simply inexplicable that he had gotten it wrong. Anne, for all her smarts, failed to see that Gilbert had finally figured out what the best apology might be.

 **II**.

Anne Shirley was not friends with Gilbert Blythe, but nor was she his enemy any longer. He was her rival, intent upon goading her at every turn. A small part of Anne thought that maybe it was a good thing; Gilbert gave her all the more reason to work hard in her studies. The thought of surpassing him helped her focus even in Geometry, the worst of her subjects.

Frustratingly, Gilbert seemed to enjoy how much he was vexing her. He was always smiling, laughing, smirking at her. She knew Marilla said it was always best to turn the other cheek, but for the life of her Anne was convinced she could not. Sometimes, he could be so completely irritating. In spite of that, she’d sworn to tolerate him, if only for the sake of her sanity.

And in time, she did. It had been a blessing she couldn’t understand when Mr Phillips had sent her to take Gilbert his books. When she’d seen his home, his father, all of it, so much of her anger had seeped out of her. She realized that Gilbert might understand her more than she had thought, that they may be more similar than she expected.

She would trudge through the snow when the school day had ended, wandering her way up to the little cottage the Blythe’s lived in. She liked their little home. It was nothing like Green Gables, but it was quaint and warm and loving. Gilbert would meet her at the door, he’d thank her, she would nod wordlessly, and they'd part for the afternoon.

She had started to work herself up, plotting what she’d say. She couldn’t well go on saying nothing to him, especially now that she knew about his father. Every day, the words would choke and die in her throat, and every day, she’d curse herself on the walk back. Gilbert was not her friend, but she knew what it was like for him, and that was enough for her to think that perhaps she had been too callous.

On a Thursday, it just came out in reply. “That’s alright,” she had said softly, her head straightening sharply at the sound of her own voice. He stared at her, a slow curve to his lips, and she regretted ever having done what Phillips asked. “She speaks?”

She had shifted from foot to foot, tearing her eyes from his. “Yes, well, don’t think too much of it. I’m still angry with you.”

He had but smiled in earnest, “of course.” If it had been anyone but him, it would have sounded a slight. But the way he had said it, like it was as obvious as anything - as if he agreed that she was right. When she walked home, it would echo in her head; the tone of his voice, the quirk of a grin, how piercing his hazel eyes were -

It would be the last time she saw him until his father’s funeral. She’d wanted to console him, say that she knew what he felt like. She was sure she could never forget the way his eyes had gone stony, the way he’d spat the words out in the snow. She had _hurt_ him, in a way that might be worse than he had her, and she was surprised that the thought of that stung so.

She’d gone into the woods and to the clubhouse, and she’d promised to herself she’d not think of him again. She hadn’t meant to upset him, but what was done was done. When she got up the courage to apologise to him, the cottage was empty. It left her to wonder why she’d even bothered in the first place.

 **III**.

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was not interested in Gilbert Blythe in a romantical sense, and the letters they exchanged were purely platonic, despite what Diana might have implied. She’d written him out of necessity, care for the wellbeing of his property. It was the least she could do for him, considering the residual guilt she carried from her thoughtlessness when his father had passed. After all, the pair of them were barely friends. She doubted he had even thought of her in months.

When she’d written him, her thoughts had kept drifting back to that last day she had seen him. They’d formed an uneasy truce, one built on mutual wrongs. He had promised that he’d come back, and perhaps it had stirred something in the pit of her belly, but there was nothing to say that any of it meant anything. She just didn’t want to see him go, as it meant losing a strong rival and compatriot. That was all.

Ruby reminded her of him often, always dreaming about his adventures in far off lands, wistful and moody at the thought of him. If Anne was more open to these talks then she had been in the past, it was not noticed. Ruby said she missed him terribly, and Anne had to wonder whether he would have spared the poor girl a thought at all. Surely he had much else to think about.

In truth, Anne was a little jealous of him, and she was excited by the idea of him coming back. Not because she missed him. She just wanted to hear about where he had been and what he had seen, what the world was like outside of Prince Edward Island. She was sure he would have seen terrific exoticism, the sort she could only dream of.

She couldn't say why she hadn’t wanted to give the letters to Ruby. When Diana had suggested it, Anne had frozen up instinctually, and her best friend had only grinned. The implication that it meant something was clear, and Anne abhorred it. She wanted the letter, and that was that. If she thought about it long enough she would be able to reason a thousand whys, but her wanting it should be enough.

When she next dreamed up Princess Cordelia’s great tragical romance, if her imagined lover resembled Gilbert, it was a pure coincidence. It was similarly coincidence that Cordelia and her beau were separated by the ocean, that they wrote one another furiously but couldn’t be together. No, that was just fancy, thoughtless and completely distant from any base in reality.

When she finally saw him again, it was when she’d lost her hair and her dignity. She’d wanted nothing more than to disappear, the group parting as he stepped towards her. “It’s really good to see you,” he had said, and she had merely stared. His eyes crinkled, and she wondered how he could look at her in that way of his even now, when she was homely and boyish.

It was the same way he’d looked at her months before, when he’d breathed out a single word as if afraid to lose it. “Anyway,” a word that now meant everything and yet nothing. There were many anyways between he and her, Anne supposed. She wasn’t sure what that denoted, nor did she think to consider it more. It was just one reflection within a rash of them, unimportant and easily forgotten.

 **IV**.

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert wasn’t sure what Gilbert Blythe was to her, not in the least. She supposed she’d call him a friend now, after everything that had happened. There had been a shift between them, one marked by the difference in both of them. Gilbert had grown up while he was away, and Anne - well, she had come to know what she could expect from the world.

He wanted to be a doctor, and grudgingly she knew he would make a good one. He was kind, even to her, despite everything. They quarrelled still, but over silly things, like poetry interpretations or grade discrepancies. She’d finish a quiz first and look over to his desk, smiling if he was still working. Sometimes he’d pretend to keep working till he knew she was looking, though she didn’t know that.

Miss Stacy had had them working together, citing their closeness in class placement. It could be agonising competing with him like that, but she’d admit that it was nice having someone who knew what she was talking about half the time. She loved her friends, she did, but Diana, Ruby and the others were hardly as interested in literature and history as he was. Sometimes as they worked she’d feel his gaze upon her. It burnt her, boring in to her very soul, as if he might see right in to her heart. It terrified Anne, the thought that someone could think to know her so completely. “What was it like,” he’d said, “at the orphanage?”

She was struck still. She supposed that her friends must know that she had come to Avonlea with a checkered past. It was sometimes clear in the way she held herself, in the way she responded to certain things, and she knew as much. He stared at her solemnly, and she had licked her dry lips as she thought. “It was,” she had paused, “lonely.”

He nodded. “I can’t imagine you locked up in any place like that. It seems so terribly cruel.” And maybe if it had been anybody else who’d asked her, she would have ignored them, or rebuffed them in anger. But for whatever reason, Anne was alright with talking to him about it. He had asked her so softly, speaking in that way he sometimes did, leaving her breathless. As if he had needed to qualify asking, he looked up from his notes. “While I was away, Bash and I, we saw things. And I thought of you, and how much you must have been through.”

He said nought else on the subject, but Anne had thought to herself then that Gilbert Blythe, despite what she’d first thought, was an unwaveringly good person. He was empathetic and steadfast, the sort of person whose presence was endlessly grounding. Such a musing hurt her a little, in consideration of what had passed between them. Gilbert insisted he had wanted to be her friend, and Anne - well, she had pushed him away, ignored him.

It had been for Ruby, that was true, but also a little for herself. He was exactly the sort of stupid boy Anne could see herself becoming distracted by. Gilbert was funny and smart, kind, and he liked her, despite her eccentricities. If Anne had let herself, she supposed he might be the exact type of person she’d come to like romantically. As soon as the thought came, she had spurned it. The thought of her and _Gilbert_ was humorous, if anything.

 **V**.

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was grateful to have Gilbert Blythe’s friendship, and that thought had made her regret many things. As the end of their time at Avonlea had wound down, he’d walked her home to Green Gables nearly every day. Neither of them ever spoke of how the journey was out of his way, of how he’d take much longer now to get back home.

It was nice to have him by her side. Diana wasn’t in the Queens Academy group, and she was due to marry Moody in the spring. Anne could feel the change in the air, and she knew she’d have to move towards an uncertain future without her very best friend as close as she’d like. Shamefully, Anne had been quite unhappy with Diana’s choices. It had been Gilbert who’d talked her round.

“Charlottetown isn’t so far, Anne. You can always come back, and I’m sure Diana will come to visit.” She hated that he was always right, that he was so sensible about these things. She had told him as much, and he laughed, and Anne couldn’t help but smile. He had had her smiling often these days, despite her growing worries about Matthew’s ill health.

When the results had come out, he’d matched her. “Fair and square,” she had murmured to herself, thinking of the thumb dictionary she kept on her bedside table. She remembered how happy she’d been that Christmas, how she’d opened his gift under the cover of darkness. She wasn’t upset. If she was to be tied with anyone it should be him - besides, her name was printed first.

They had moved into the same boarding house, along with Ruby. It was a beautiful old thing, and it reminded Anne of home. At first the three of them spent a lot of time together, but Ruby soon got a beau and was gone often, leaving just the two of them. Anne was pleased that Ruby seemed to be ever so happy, thoughts of her childhood crush dissipating as she grew into a more mature young woman.

She had said so to one of her new friends, Priscilla, who had smiled mischievously. “Is that so, Anne?” Anne had rolled her eyes, glancing over to where Gilbert stood, then looking back to her friend. She’d met some wonderful people here at Queens, but they all seemed to expect something of her and Gilbert. Frankly, she found it disconcerting that the idea of friendship between men and women was so unusual to them.

At the end of the year, she won the Avery scholarship. When she had looked out from the dais, it was Gilbert she saw first, his own gold medal around his neck and a broad smile stretched from ear to ear. In a way she had beaten him, properly, yet it didn’t make her as happy as she thought it might. Instead, she thought how wonderful it was she would have a friend like him at Redmond.

 **VI**.

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert realized that Gilbert Blythe may well be another of her kindred spirits, though it had taken a great kindness for her to see it. When she’d gotten back to Avonlea, she’d spent a few blissful weeks with Marilla and Matthew and Diana, but of course it couldn’t last forever. Though Matthew had been sick, she was shocked and devastated when he passed.

Gilbert came by a few days after, bringing them a dish he’d helped Mary make. It reminded her of when she’d made that pie for him when his own father had died, her mortifying outburst about being a terrible wife. The thought of it was the only levity she had for a time, and she came to appreciate it greatly.

She was due to start teaching at White Sands soon, though the thought of leaving Marilla behind her had distressed her. Carmody wasn’t far, but it was distant enough that she loathed the idea of going. The date she was to leave began to loom over them both as they grieved, and Anne was at a loss for what to do, considering turning down the position altogether.

Gilbert eventually came by, dawdling on her doorstep. He told her he’d gone to the trustees, and she’d be staying in Avonlea to teach at the school. He’d go to Carmody in her place. Tears welled up in her eyes and Anne threw her arms around him unthinkingly. He was stunned, but wrapped his arms around her, smiling into her hair.

Things would get better for her, and she was intent to make it so. She loved teaching the children, seeing the wonder inside of them as she taught them astronomy or history. In the weekends, she’d visit with Diana, or read with Marilla. Every fortnight she had dinner at the Blythe-LaCroix's.

Adelaide LaCroix, Bash and Mary's oldest, adored Gilbert entirely, though she couldn’t quite say his name properly. Anne thoroughly enjoyed watching the two of them together, thinking of how she hoped Gilbert might be happy like this someday, with his own children about him. “She loves you,” she had smiled, and Sebastian had laughed heartily. “Sometimes I think she likes this fool better than me! Who knew he could be such a lady-killer.” Anne missed the wink he had thrown Gilbert.

She spent more and more time with him, going for walks and so on. She knew that ladies about the town talked, said that he was in love with her. Anne, for all her dreams of the romantical, wasn’t certain that was true. Gilbert - well, he was compassionate and thoughtful, but he was that way with everyone, she was sure of it. They were close friends and friends do things for one another. Gilbert couldn't love someone like her.

He had nudged her one day as they walked through the Avonlea township, turning to her with a smile as he looked about those who watched them, “they expect us to marry, you know.” A scarlet blush had crept up her neck, and she’d ducked her head. She murmured about how a silly a thought that was, avoiding his gaze. Silly, she had thought, so very very silly.

Gilbert would curse why he had such a thing to Bash that night. 

 **VII**.

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert cared a great deal for Gilbert Blythe, but not in the way he wanted her to. It pained her, the echo of Cole’s words what felt so long ago reverberating through her. She had gone on too long denying it, and she couldn’t any longer. Gilbert looked at her as if she was all he wanted and he wanted all of her. It was something she couldn’t possibly ever give him. Someone like Anne could never possibly be enough, and though he didn’t recognise that now, he would in time.

It was silly to even imagine - her, as somebody’s wife, being adored in the manner Diana is by Moody. It was almost preposterous, and she was sure all the women in town thought so themselves. After all, Gilbert had grown into a handsome man, one who was steady and warm hearted. He was silly to think there could ever be something between them, no matter how much she wished there could be. It was a thought that would overcome her at night, her heart thundering loud.

It had been a Sunday when he came by, just before dusk. They’d stood on the bridge over the creek near Green Gables, and it had been so beautiful, and he had clasped her hand. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” The setting sun cast amber rays across his face, and she gazed up at him. He was a head taller than her by then, something he’d lauded over her.

If she had but leaned up -

No. She couldn’t. “I don’t know if you should.” His laugh had caught in his throat at the seriousness of her eyes, and she steeled herself. She had to break his heart, and in turn, her own. Anne hadn’t wanted things to change, but she knew in her heart she couldn’t control that. From now on, everything would be different.

“Don’t say that,” he’d clenched his jaw, and her eyes had watered at the sight of his pained eyes. “Anne, I -” He had stopped, looked at her long and hard. “I love you, you know. And, if you'll have me, I want to be with you. Properly.”

[The word he'd misspelled all those years ago was engagement, Anne thought suddenly.]

She had told him she cared about him, that he was one of her bestest friends. That she was sorry, but she didn’t feel _that_ way. Still, something irreparable had occurred. His expression became unreadable, closed off, and it felt as if he was gone as fast as he had come. She was left to stand in the cool air of the dusk, with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company.

It hadn’t been like that with Billy or Charlie. She hadn’t cared as much, she supposed. But Gilbert, she had never wanted to hurt like this. He was special. He was good. Now things were fractured, in a way she hadn’t anticipated fully. A part of her had thought it wasn’t her he wanted, but the expectations, the idea of her. She knew they would fight and bicker, that it would never work. It didn’t stop the smallest part of her from wishing that it could have.

 **VIII**.

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was in love with Gilbert Blythe, and she may have ruined absolutely everything. The thought had struck her entirely, the realization of what a fool she had been. Anne was completely and totally _romantically_ in love with him, and she had broken his heart, and he was lost to her.

She broke things off with Roy and moped around at college, watching Gilbert with that girl from his classes. She was petite, curvaceous, with long raven hair. She was everything Anne wasn’t and she couldn’t bear to watch it. Gilbert had barely spoken to her since that day at the creek - he was courteous, but he couldn’t look at her too long. He was avoiding her, and she missed him so.

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and Anne had hated the sentiment for being so true. She’d made a grave mistake, one she had thought was right at the time - and maybe it still was. Now she would never know what could have been. He left for home before she did, telling Priscilla to pass on his farewells. It stung.

The whole trip to Echo Lodge, she had been miserable. She couldn’t wait to get home to Avonlea, to rest and declutter her thoughts. Most of all, she wanted to talk to Diana about everything. She went to her almost as soon as she arrived, surprised when Diana met her at the door. “Oh Anne,” she had sighed, “haven’t you heard?”

Anne had expected an engagement, not this. Diana had said that she'd heard Gilbert didn’t have long, and Anne had backed off of the porch, turning to go without a word. Her friend called after her as she broke out into a run, gripping her skirts up high without a care for decorum.

She had reached his home quickly, Mary letting her in with a soft shake of her head and mournful eyes. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes rimmed darkly, still as he slept. She sat in the chair by his bed, clutching at his clammy hand and wondering why she had been so obtuse all this time. “I love you,” she murmured into his neck, “I’m so sorry Gilbert. I should have told you, and I was so stupid, and - ”

He stirred, his eyes fluttering to open, cutting her short. “Am I dreaming?” She rubbed her thumb over the palm of his hand, smiling a little as she assured him she was there. “So that means you do love me then.”

Mary brought her a damp cloth which Anne pressed to his forehead. He smiled weakly at her, and suddenly she was aware of the tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, and now you’re - you’re sick, and I - I could never live with myself if you didn’t know.” He’d ghosted his thumb across her cheekbone, looking at her the way he always had. _She_ loved him _,_  she thought, she _loved_ him _,_ she loved _him._

She had stayed by his bed since then, watching as Sebastian and Mary and the doctor moved about. He was going to be okay, they assured her, and he was - he was getting better. Soon he was sitting up, then getting out of bed, then going for walks outside, and she was determined to be there for all of it. “Gilbert Blythe, if you ever scare me like that again, I’ll kill you myself.”

He’d only laughed, his eyes warm with fondness. “Noted.” They’d said his recovery was a miracle, though Gilbert had said it was something else entirely. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert willed him to live, and that was enough. She was indeed a passionate individual, and he intended to marry her as soon as he was able. 

She had turned to him with a soft smile and thought to herself how happy she was. Anne had denied things quite long enough. “Gilbert,” she’d said, he only humming in reply. “My great, tragical romance - I guess it’s you.”

Gilbert smirked, his eyebrow arched as he looked at her. “I could have told you that then. It would have saved us a lot -”

Anne cut him off with a kiss. He was right, and she was done thinking so very much for now. She was going to be with him, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
